The Night Before Christmas
by JWood201
Summary: Mary Ann receives a very special Christmas present.  Inspired by The Nutcracker.
1. The Night Before Christmas

_Yes, I know it's after Christmas, but I can't pass up a challenge. Although it wasn't so much a challenge as callensensei planting the seed of doing a Nutcracker dream sequence in my head. And, as I'd just finished being in a production of The Nutcracker (as a very young and very hip Clara's Mother), I had the story and music in my head already. This story grew and expanded and essentially blew up from there. (It turns into kind of a downer, so I apologize for that). This is Part 1 of what resulted from that tiny idea._

**The Night Before Christmas**

Mary Ann pulled her sweater tighter around her body as she slid into the bamboo lounge chair usually occupied by Mrs. Howell. She tucked her feet up underneath her and clutched the warm ceramic mug in both hands. It was the last one left from the Minnow – the only one that Gilligan hadn't managed to break yet and it displayed quite a few war wounds for its valiant survival efforts. A substantial chunk was chipped from the rim and a long superficial crack wove its way down one side, but it still held and was the only thing on the island that could keep her hot chocolate warm.

Yes. _Hot chocolate_.

By one of his routine miraculous accidents, Gilligan had discovered one lone cacao tree growing on a remote part of the island. After the Professor sputtered his astonishment and gave them a lengthy lecture about the tree's ability to only grow in a very limited geographical zone and Aztec emperor Moctezuma II's obsession with the world's first chocolate shake, he carefully transplanted the seeds and managed to harvest a tiny grove.

Mary Ann ground the beans into a powder and mixed it with warm coconut milk. It tasted awful, but it was as close to real hot chocolate as she was going to get.

And it just wasn't Christmas Eve without hot chocolate.

Mary Ann settled into the lounge chair and gazed up at their Christmas tree. The Skipper had hauled one of the island's leafier trees into camp, where the castaways decorated it with tropical flower garlands and seashells. Little origami animals hung from some boughs, folded from twenty dollar bills donated by Mr. Howell – petty cash to be thrown around willy-nilly for such activities. Mrs. Howell strung yards of pearls, the Professor hung up sparkling glass test tubes and Ginger put her empty lipstick tubes to good use, the smooth contours glinting in the firelight. The Skipper added various items found in his sea chest, a compass and a medal that he had received for some brave deed that he never fully explained when asked about it.

Gilligan, meanwhile, had chosen the most colorful and interesting panels from some of his old comic books and framed them with thin bamboo rods. He hung them meticulously on the tree like fine works of art, stopping to straighten them with an air of effrontery whenever one got knocked slightly askew. The bare spots were filled with bows from Mary Ann's seemingly endless supply of hair ribbons. Occasionally, one of Mrs. Howell's diamonds peeked out from behind a leaf, catching the light from the tiki torches and sending rainbows across the clearing. Atop the tree, a giant starfish perched. Beneath, presents of all shapes and sizes were wrapped in giant palm leaves with hemp ropes, ribbons, vines, and flowers serving as dressing.

Considering their circumstances, it was absolutely perfect.

Mary Ann relaxed deeper into the chair, Christmas songs playing softly on the radio on the table beside her, and closed her eyes. She listened to the fire crackling gently on the torches, felt the warm mug in her hands and almost felt like she was back home in Kansas, sitting beside the tree with her family, a fire in the fireplace, Aunt Martha baking cookies, and her cousins fighting over presents that weren't even unwrapped yet.

A monkey suddenly screamed somewhere in the jungle and a parrot squawked indignantly in response.

It was _almost_ like being back in Kansas.

The castaways threw a big Christmas Eve party that evening and the six others were all long asleep as Mary Ann sat in the clearing, surveying the damage that she would have to clean up in the morning. She didn't care, though. They ate, sang, danced, and laughed late into the night. It was one of the best days they'd had on the island so far. It even trumped last year's Christmas party when Ginger popped out of a giant fruitcake and Gilligan ended up accidentally drunk on the vodka leftover from the Russian cosmonaut debacle, told Mr. Howell that he should invest two million in Skinny Mulligan's lemonade stand, and then passed out in Mary Ann's lap.

There were no such disasters this year and before heading to bed that night, Gilligan made sure everyone hung their stockings, as he did every year, insisting that Santa would find them wherever they were. Their first year on the island, the men argued with him, but were silenced the next morning when they found their socks hung up outside the hut and filled with treats.

Mary Ann suddenly set her mug down on the table and approached the tree. She picked up one of the presents that bore her name – a box almost a foot long and about six inches wide.

She shook it once for good measure, even though she already knew exactly what was in it. Sort of.

A year and a half ago, Mary Ann told Gilligan about the dollhouse she had when she was a child. Her parents gave it to her for Christmas when she was six – her father made it himself in secret over many months and her mother decorated the inside and sewed little outfits for all the dolls. It was a two-story white farmhouse with black shutters and rocking chairs on the front porch. Mary Ann wanted a real house just like it when she grew up.

Mary Ann loved that dollhouse more than anything else in the entire world. She played with it every day and all of its occupants were given their own names and personalities. The mommy doll wore a little blue gingham dress and looked like Mary Ann, so she had taken to imagining that the other members of this inanimate family were the members of her future real family. The daddy doll had brown hair and blue eyes and played baseball with the little boy. The little girl was named Lilly and went to ballet class once a week and her dog looked like Toto from _The Wizard of Oz_.

It was perfect.

When Mary Ann had to move in with Aunt Martha and Uncle George after the accident, she became more and more absorbed in her imaginary family. She spent hours lying on the floor practically trying to fit inside the house with the dolls. Lilly became the best ballerina in her class, the little boy grew into a great baseball player, and the daddy doll _always_ listened to his wife's judgment when he wanted to do something dangerous. Meanwhile, the Mary Ann-looking mommy doll would bake pies and take care of the children and would never, _ever_ let her husband convince her that it was okay to drive an hour home in a violent storm.

_Ever_.

But, soon after, the dollhouse was destroyed when Mary Ann's younger cousin was playing with it in the backyard and a sudden summer storm rolled in. The house was drenched beyond repair, its helpless residents caked with mud and soaked to their nonexistent bones.

Mary Ann was inconsolable. Mother Nature had taken her home twice. First her real family and then her inanimate surrogate family.

This is why Mary Ann hated thunderstorms.

This is why she would have panicked almost to hyperventilation that day on the Minnow had Ginger not informed the awkward first mate that he should probably "check on Dorothy." Gilligan found his fifth passenger in the corner nearly suffocating on her anxiety, muttering about accidents and rain and seeing someone named Freddy again.

Gilligan informed her in his most professional and authoritative voice that the Skipper had everything under control and that they would be fine, but he could tell she didn't believe him. So he sat down beside her and told her every funny story he knew until the boat's wild rocking began to subside and her eyes began to focus on him. His hand had gone numb where she was squeezing it and he even let her throw her arms around him once or twice when the boat hit a particularly rough wave.

But as Gilligan watched her stare down at the ground as she told him about her dollhouse one day as they perched together on a branch in the banyan tree, he knew that it still hurt her more profoundly than he could possibly imagine.

So for her birthday the following month, Gilligan made her a doll.

A Mary Ann-looking doll in a little blue gingham dress.

When Mary Ann opened the gift and found an almost exact replica of her beloved doll staring up at her, she immediately burst into tears and the Skipper pummeled Gilligan with his cap until she managed to stop him and declare that it was perfect. Gilligan then sheepishly produced a little raincoat fashioned out of his own yellow slicker, gave Mary Ann an embarrassed half-smile, and told her not to worry because now the doll was water-proof.

For Halloween, she received a little girl doll and a dog that looked like Toto. For Thanksgiving, a little boy. For Christmas that year, she got what Gilligan intended to be a grandma, but whom Mary Ann claimed reminded her of Aunt Martha. On a random Tuesday, just because he finished it early and couldn't wait until Arbor Day, he gave her a princess.

Since then, Mary Ann collected a pirate, a native, and dolls resembling some of her castaway friends, all either sewed together and then stuffed or carved out of wood. They were then meticulously clothed from fabric remnants, coiffed, and their features painted on with vivid berry paint.

Last month when Mary Ann received a stunning Ginger doll in a shining sequin dress, Gilligan informed her that by the time they were rescued she'd have enough dolls to make a whole doll _town_ for her kids! And every town needs a movie star and a pirate.

Mary Ann bit her lip and stared down at her Christmas present. Could she open it to take a peek and then rewrap it? Was she a good enough actress to fool the others in the morning?

A sudden noise caused her to spin from the tree, but she relaxed when she saw Gilligan by his hut facing the row of stockings hanging below the window. He held the bottom of his shirt out and the makeshift pouch was weighed down with the trinkets he was putting into the stockings. The Christmas stockings were actually socks for most of them – only Mrs. Howell and Ginger used actual stockings, feigning innocence when Gilligan accused them of doing it to get twice as many presents. Mrs. Howell merely sniffed importantly and declared that a lady never wore socks.

Mary Ann watched Gilligan work quickly and deftly, being uncharacteristically quiet and dexterous while doing so, and told herself that if they were still on the island next December, she'd make everyone real Christmas stockings.

"Hey, Santa."

Gilligan flinched and spun in the sand, the last few treats flying from his shirt and nearly hitting him in the face before falling to the ground.

Gilligan gaped at her in silence for a moment and then frowned. "You can't open that until tomorrow."

Mary Ann glanced down at the present and then back up at his disapproving face. "It is tomorrow."

Gilligan thought about this for a moment and a grin suddenly burst across his face. "You're right."

"Can I open it now, Gilligan? Please?" She gave him her best pout. "I'll rewrap it and I promise to make a big fuss over it in front of everyone else in the morning."

Gilligan shrugged. "I don't care what they think. I just want you to like it."

Mary Ann grinned and clutched the present to her chest. She jumped back on to the lounge chair and sat on her heels. "Come sit down." She patted the woven seat impatiently and fidgeted with the ribbon on the box as he loped over and plopped down beside her. Mary Ann grabbed at the present eagerly, but paused to peer up at the sailor. "You ready?"

"For what? You're the one opening the present."

Mary Ann smiled patiently and then with lightning-fast speed ripped the ribbon and palm leaf wrapping from the old shoe box Gilligan commandeered from Mrs. Howell. She flung the lid over her shoulder, stared into the box, and gasped. "Gilligan!"

"What's wrong?" He sounded panicked.

"Nothing," she breathed. "This is the best one yet."

Mary Ann gingerly lifted the doll from the box. It was a sailor in his Full Dress uniform. Gilligan had called upon his time of service and undoubtedly the Skipper's extensive knowledge to replicate the uniform as closely as possible. Mary Ann was no expert, but the handiwork looked painstakingly detailed and he did a remarkable job considering the materials he had to work with on the island. The doll's white uniform was crisp and perfect and his dark hair fell from beneath his cap.

"Oh, Gilligan. I love him," she whispered and the first mate was glad his ears were hidden under his hat because he knew they were turning red. "He's almost perfect."

"_Almost?_"

Mary Ann brushed the doll's unruly hair away from his big blue eyes. "Why didn't you dress him to look like you?"

Gilligan shifted uncomfortably. "That's not me."

"Oh. Okay."

"He's a decorated officer. See his medals?" Gilligan pointed at the tiny shining objects on the uniform coat. "I know how girls like to make believe their dolls get, like, tied to the train tracks by some evil guy with a big mustache. And then some other guy comes to save her and they go live in Barbie's Dream Castle or whatever it's called."

Mary Ann laughed at the accuracy of his observation, but Gilligan was studying the doll in her hands in deep, thoughtful concentration.

"He's not afraid of anything. Not enemy subs, not headhunters. Not even thunderstorms. Your Mary Ann doll already has a lot of other friends. He's in case she needs a hero."


	2. Not Even A Mouse

**... Not Even A Mouse**

"What are we listening to?" Gilligan whispered.

He sat beside Mary Ann, shoulder-to-shoulder on the narrow lounge chair, listening to the sweeping classical music floating from the radio. Mary Ann had her feet planted on the chair, knees raised with the doll propped against her legs as she studied him. She had been quiet for a long time and it felt almost blasphemous for him to talk over the music.

"_The Nutcracker_." Gilligan was silent, so Mary Ann elaborated, "Tchaikovsky."

Gilligan's face twisted. "That sounds like one of those words the Professor uses that we all think he made up."

"It's a story about a little girl who gets a special doll for Christmas." Mary Ann held up her sailor for emphasis. "He comes to life and takes her to a magical land."

"Oh." Gilligan listened for a moment, the rich strings beginning a steady crescendo that didn't sound at all like it belonged in a story about dolls. "What's happening now?"

"Rats."

"Rats?" he squeaked.

"Listen." Mary Ann leaned against him and extended her arm across him toward the radio, preparing to point out an exact moment. She peered into the distance just beyond the radio, listening intently. "The rats are running around. The tree is growing. Clara realizes her doll is gone. The rats surround her."

Mary Ann glanced up at Gilligan, who was totally immersed in her narration.

"She's panicking. And then – right _here_!" Mary Ann pointed at the radio and was supported by a cymbal crash that made Gilligan flinch. "He's alive. Her prince. He enters with a whole battalion of soldiers to fight off the rats." Gilligan was staring at the radio in awe, the whole scene playing out perfectly in his imagination. This was almost better than some of his comic books. "But then the Rat King shows up."

Gilligan's head whipped from the radio so he could gape down at Mary Ann. "Rat King?" She grinned and nodded. "How do you know what's going on?"

"It's a famous ballet." When Gilligan's brow furrowed, she answered before he could even ask. "I took ballet when I was little. Most girls did." She shrugged. "I wasn't very good, but –."

"But you're from Kansas."

Mary Ann frowned at him. "They have ballet in Kansas, Gilligan! My friend's grandma turned her barn into a studio and gave classes to the girls in town." She peered at him in mock offense. "Winfield's a city, you know."

Gilligan began giggling as he pictured a row of tiny farm girls in giant tutus trying to follow along behind a crazy old lady, who probably hadn't danced since she was a tiny farm girl in a giant tutu herself. He imagined Mary Ann at the end of the row, the tiniest farm girl of the bunch, her equilibrium severely impaired by the obligatory giant tutu.

Mary Ann punched him lightly in the shoulder. "Be quiet. I wasn't _that_ bad."

"Did you have a giant tutu?"

Mary Ann glared at him, but then offered him a small smile. "Of course. Anyway, poor Miss Cathy tried to produce _The Nutcracker_ every year at Christmas. There weren't nearly enough kids, but she tried." Mary Ann shrugged and then laughed as a memory came rushing back to her. "Miss Cathy always made her husband play Mother Ginger."

Gilligan's eyebrows shot up. "_Mother Ginger_?" Gilligan had a hard enough time picturing the island's resident movie star washing dishes, let alone taking care of a bunch of kids.

Mary Ann wrinkled her nose in thought. "I think she's supposed to be a giant gingerbread house. All the littlest girls would run out from under her huge skirt. Miss Cathy's husband put on a big red wig, long gold false eyelashes, and did all sorts of crazy stuff in the background. The girls never saw his costume until during the first show. My friend Cindy's little sister almost fell over in the middle of her dance when she saw him."

Gilligan wanted to laugh, but he couldn't help empathizing with the poor guy. His day spent as Gilliana the White Goddess was not something he was eager to relive.

Mary Ann suddenly grinned proudly. "My mother was in it, too," she announced.

Gilligan looked down at her in surprise and then smiled. Mary Ann rarely talked about her mother, but when she did, Gilligan felt honored to listen to whatever she wanted to share. His favorite Sarah Summers story was about the time she hauled Mary Ann and her cousins out of bed in the middle of the night and made them climb the only hill in Cowley County to watch a meteor shower. That sounded like something he'd do.

"She was?"

Mary Ann nodded. "She was the only person who had danced before who was old enough to be the Sugar Plum Fairy. Miss Cathy taught her when she was little, too. She wore the most gorgeous burnt orange tutu, with dark pink and gold jewels. She wasn't great, but I thought she was."

Mary Ann seemed lost in this statement for a moment, but then peered up at Gilligan as if letting him in on a giant secret. "I was an Angel." Gilligan grinned. That sounded about right. "I played a Bon Bon and one of Clara's friends..." She trailed off and turned away from him. "My last year I was an Angel."

"Why'd you stop?"

Mary Ann shrugged widely and refused to meet his eye. "When I moved in with Aunt Martha and Uncle George, they already had five kids of their own and couldn't afford it. I didn't really want to do it anymore, anyway."

"Why?"

Mary Ann heaved a deep sigh and busied herself by brushing her doll's hair off of his forehead. "After the show that night – Christmas Eve – it was raining really hard when we were driving home. Really, _really_ hard."

"So?"

"We lived almost an hour outside of town..."

Gilligan cocked his head to one side, clearly not putting together the pieces. "But if you liked it...? It doesn't matter if you weren't that good, if you –."

"The accident, Gilligan!" she blurted and he flinched.

"Oh. Oh!" Gilligan slumped down in the chair. "I'm sorry."

Mary Ann had told him this story.

One day when they were out picking mangoes, the storm clouds began to roll in and she began to get very nervous. After they escaped the rain in a nearby cave, Gilligan demanded to know, once and for all, why she irrationally panicked every time there was a thunderstorm. The others had discussed this briefly in the past and the Professor chalked it up to a generic phobia, but Gilligan could tell that there was something more and it scared him. She refused to say anything at first, but he held tight to her shoulders and forced her to look at him.

And then, in one cathartic outburst, she told him everything.

She told him about the violent thunderstorm that rolled in during the Christmas Eve performance and about how it didn't rain much in Winfield and never in December, but it had been unseasonably warm. Her mother wanted to stay in town, but her father insisted on driving back to the farm. He didn't want to spend Christmas in a hotel and Mary Ann egged him on from the backseat, insisting that Santa wouldn't find her if she wasn't at home.

She told him that the rain was unlike anything she had ever seen before or since, except for that day on the Minnow. The whole way, her mother was in a panic, gripping the seat and trying to convince her father to turn around, or to at least pull over. Telling him that he could barely see two feet in front of the car. That he couldn't even tell if he was on the right side of the road. That he wouldn't be able to see another car until they were right on top of them! As soon as this sentence flew from her mouth, Sarah Summers stared wide-eyed into approaching headlights and had about half a second to note the irony of her last words.

Gilligan wasn't sure if Mary Ann was crying or if raindrops were still trickling down her face, but the whole story suddenly came pouring out of her in a rushed sixty second torrent. He was still trying to comprehend what she told him when she fell forward and wrapped her arms around his middle, burying her face in his rain-soaked shirt. Gilligan stumbled a bit and stared blankly at the cave wall, frozen with shock, his arms hovering dumbly in the air.

After a moment, the story settled heavily in his bones and he sighed. Gilligan put his arms around her wet back, the final image of her story seared into his memory. She described it so briefly, but he could see it perfectly and in such vivid detail.

Nine year old Mary Ann stood in her aunt and uncle's front yard in the pouring rain in the middle of the night, unscathed but for one superficial scratch on her forehead. She clung to the slippery hand of a police officer, his umbrella barely covering them both. Her white Angel tutu was soaked – limp, ripped, and muddy – and her mother's Pointe shoes hung at her side, fingers tangled in the pink satin ribbons. She watched the sheriff up on the porch, his hat in his hand, talking to her pale, pajama-clad uncle. Her aunt stood behind her husband in the doorway, gripping his arm with both hands.

It was almost cinematic, like the last frame of a really sad move that ends without a hopeful conclusion. Thunder rumbled, nearly drowned out by the tornado warning siren wailing in the distance. The flashing lights of the police cars perfectly illuminated the scene, bathing the characters in a sporadic red glow.

Gilligan unconsciously tightened his arms around her back. He wasn't sure if he was crying or if raindrops were still dripping from his bangs and running down his face.

Since that day in the cave, every time a thunderstorm bore down on the island, Gilligan sought her out and entertained her with every funny story he knew until the sun was shining again. The more violent the storm, the funnier his stories became.

"This is my favorite part." Gilligan heard her voice jump into the memory, although he still saw nine year old Mary Ann standing before him in her ripped tutu, gold halo slipping down her wet hair and huge heartbroken eyes boring into his soul. "Gilligan?"

Gilligan blinked until he remembered that he was sitting on the lounge chair with her, the radio still playing beside him. "What?"

"Well, one of my favorite parts."

"Oh." He blinked again. "What is it?"

"Everyone welcomes Clara and her prince to the magical land. And she tells about the rats and how her doll came to life to save her. And how her godfather brought her younger brother Fritz's toy soldiers to life to help him. And then –."

"Who's Freddy?"

Mary Ann sputtered to a stop and stared at him incredulously. "What?"

"That day on the Minnow. When you were upset about the storm and I was telling you stories. You kept mumbling about storms and the ... you know, and somebody named Freddy."

"Oh." Mary Ann looked away, busying herself with the new doll again. "My younger brother."

Gilligan gasped and his eyes lit up. "You never told me you have a little brother!"

"I don't."

"But –! Oh." Gilligan turned and slumped down in the lounge chair again. "I ask too many questions. I'm sorry." He thought for a moment. "You can have mine if you want."

Mary Ann burst out laughing before she could stop herself. "No thanks. From what I've heard, I think I'll let you keep him."

"Nah. He'd be nice to you. He's just mad at me 'cause this is his favorite shirt." Gilligan frowned and picked indignantly at his famous red rugby shirt.

"Freddy'd be about thirteen now," Mary Ann offered softly.

"When my brother turned thirteen, I taught him all about sailor knots and how to make the perfect slingshot. It's an art form."

Mary Ann smiled gently at the image of Gilligan as a teacher. "I think Freddy would've liked that. He'd like you. And my mother would've _loved_ you."

Gilligan grinned. "Really?"

"Uh huh. She loved a man in uniform." Mary Ann grinned back at him from behind the sailor doll and he blushed. "She met my father when he was a Boy Scout and never let him out of her sight since. I think it was the short pants and knee socks. Irresistible."

Gilligan nodded seriously. "It works for Mr. Howell when he wears his safari outfit." Mary Ann giggled at the millionaire's costume, but Gilligan was thinking hard, his curiosity getting the better of him. "What was he like?" he heard himself blurt out.

"Who?"

"Your father."

"Oh. Well. Henry Summers was a very stubborn man. He was tough, a typical farmer. But he loved everyone. Every time he gave you a hug, he'd scoop you up and swing you around in a circle. Aunt Martha never got used to it. Every time he did it, she yelled at him, but he just laughed." They shared a smile over this, but Mary Ann quickly turned thoughtful again.

"A few days after the accident, I remember my uncle coming home from somewhere and Aunt Martha went out to meet him. I was watching from the window; I didn't let them both out of my sight at the same time for a while. But he was just kind of standing there looking lost. So she hugged him. And after a second, he scooped her up and swung her around in a circle. I'd never seen my aunt cry before that."

Gilligan frowned. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to live without his parents. He did it when he was in the Navy and now that he was on the island, but he knew they were still there - in Pennsylvania going to the movies every Friday night and nagging each other. He tried to remember how devastated he had been when his pet hamster died and then multiplied that feeling by ten thousand times, but he didn't think that was enough to even begin to understand how Mary Ann felt.

"Gilligan, listen!" she exclaimed, pulling him roughly from his thoughts. "Isn't this gorgeous?" she breathed. Mary Ann rested her cheek on his arm and gazed at the radio as if it helped her hear the music more clearly.

"What's going on now?"

Mary Ann took hold of Gilligan's elbow, nestled the doll in her arms, and pulled up her knees, curling up at his side. "It's the Sugar Plum Fairy's dance," she whispered. "Just listen. It's like magic."

Gilligan listened. It _was_ like magic.

If he ever had a question about classical music, although he most likely never would, he would probably go to the Howells first – they frequented the opera, the ballet, the symphony – and they would probably tell him that it didn't matter what the piece was about, but who saw you there on opening night and what you were wearing. He might ask Ginger, who wouldn't know anything about it unless there was a role in it appropriate for her, or even the Professor, but he would just give him a lengthy biography of the composer or a piece of useless trivia about a certain instrument. Any question about music posed to the Skipper resulted in having to sit through a booming rendition of "Anchors Aweigh" and three verses of "What Do You Do with a Drunken Sailor?" and Gilligan wasn't going to make that mistake a third time.

But if he ever had a question about cooking or butterflies or The Mosquitoes, he would go to Mary Ann first.

He would also go to Mary Ann if he had a question about magic.

He knew that deep down beneath her practicality and rationality, she had the soul of a little girl who wanted desperately to believe in fantasy, fate, and fairytales. That was probably one of the reasons they got along so well. She encouraged his little boy imagination, went along with it, and sometimes even started to believe it. After all, this was a woman whose mother preferred to ride horses bareback and barefoot while her apple pies were cooling and who made crowns out of wildflowers while weeding the garden.

So it made sense that although she sometimes lacked the technical information, Mary Ann always knew exactly what was at the center of anything. She always saw the magic, the soul, and the heart of everything.

Gilligan glanced down at her – her eyes were closed and a peaceful smile graced her face as she listened, lost in the moment. Gilligan closed his eyes too and tried to imagine the Sugar Plum Fairy's dance. He didn't know much about ballet, but he tried to picture Sarah Summers in a burnt orange tutu, twirling around and standing up on her toes, being more graceful than he could ever hope to be even in his wildest dreams. He saw a photo of Mary Ann's parents once – she had it in her suitcase and Gilligan had smiled at how much the woman in the picture looked like his best friend.

"You're right," he whispered. "It _is_ gorgeous." He felt Mary Ann squeeze his arm gently. They sat in silence, listening, the sparkling tune twinkling around them until the music changed and Gilligan thought he heard her sigh.

"There's so much I want to tell her. Like about the family and the blue ribbon I won for my apple pie at the county fair. About my friends and the island and you." She was quiet again and Gilligan wasn't sure what to say. He was let off the hook when she spoke again.

"Miss Cathy tried to dance the Sugar Plum Fairy role for a few years, but she was at least sixty-five by then. Plus, she lied about her age, so who knows how old she really was," Mary Ann added with an exaggerated eye roll.

But Gilligan didn't laugh along with her. "You still went to see the show?"

"Every year."

"But even after...? Didn't it make you sad?"

Mary Ann sighed. "Not as much as I thought it would. But I love the story; and my friends were in it. It was part of my Christmas magic every year. Not Miss Cathy hobbling around on her Pointe shoes, but the rest of it." Gilligan smiled at this, so she continued, "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Sure."

"The Christmas Eve before I went to Hawaii, I went to see the show like always. Cindy was the Sugar Plum Fairy that year. After the show, I went outside to make my Christmas wish. Like always." Gilligan grinned. That sounded like something he would do. "I love my aunt and uncle and my cousins, but the past nine years had been so ... I don't know. Blank, I guess. There was no magic anymore. Do you know what I mean?"

Gilligan nodded, but didn't dare interrupt her. Mary Ann sat up and the spot on his shirt where her head had rested instantly dropped twenty degrees.

"So I wished to be like Clara. I wished that my prince would come and rescue me and take me to a magical land. And look!" She held up her doll. "My wish came true!"

Gilligan stared at her. "It did?"

"Aren't you the one who always says the island is magical?"

Gilligan opened his mouth to retort, but then realized that she was right. He had said that. More than once.

"At the end of _The Nutcracker_," she continued, "when it's time for Clara to go home, part of her doesn't really want to leave. Listen to the music," Mary Ann instructed abruptly and pointed to the radio again.

Gilligan listened. The trumpeting brass and powerful percussion sounded every bit like a grand finale. But the closer he listened, the more he could picture a poignant scene with Clara being reluctant to leave this fantastic place just as easily as he could picture a majestic scene of her new friends seeing her off, waving regally as she departs.

"Doesn't it sound sad?" Mary Ann asked softly. "It's hard to give up magic like that." She hesitated a moment before leaning toward him to finally expose her secret. "Sometimes, like right now, I'm just happy right here."

"Can I tell you a secret now, Mary Ann?"

"Sure."

"Me, too."

* * *

_I've concluded that there are two schools of thought regarding Mary Ann's parents. One, that everything's fine. Two, that the poor girl suffers from Dorothy Gale Syndrome and lives with her aunt and uncle. I subscribe to the latter, despite the one brief mention Mary Ann makes of her mother in Season 1. Every single time before and after that it was always Aunt Martha and Uncle George, which leads me to believe that she lived with them for some reason. My Sarah Summers is pretty much everything I want to be when I grow up. And then I had to go and kill her off. :(_


	3. Visions of Sugar Plums

_Suggested rereading before attempting chapter 3: chapters 1 and 2. I bring everything and everyone back. Yay, dream sequences!  
__Also, skim through a good summary of The Nutcracker. This chapter has Mirlitons, Trepaks, and Polichinelles – oh my!_

**Visions of Sugar Plums **

Mary Ann awoke gradually. She was still outside, but was surprisingly comfortable. The one time Mr. Howell fell asleep for more than an hour on his bamboo lounge chair, he woke up clutching his back and complained for a month. Mary Ann slowly pushed herself into a sitting position. It was still dark and the tiki torches burned low and only faintly illuminated the clearing.

Mary Ann raised a hand to her head and was surprised to find her hair half pulled back with a giant blue bow. She pulled a handful over her shoulder and peered at the brunette tresses, which were inexplicably curled into long ringlets. She looked down and discovered she was wearing a beautiful long white nightgown and delicate slippers. She was almost positive that she had fallen asleep on the bamboo lounge chair in her rattiest and most comfortable sweater and Gilligan's pajama pants that he only wore when he was sick and didn't leave his hammock all day. Mary Ann stole them from the clothesline one day and he either hadn't noticed or didn't care.

It was at this point that she finally realized that the lounge chair was no longer made of bamboo. She had been asleep on a rich green plush chaise lounge. Mary Ann glanced around the clearing and noticed without any irony at all that the décor was now an odd mixture of tropical and rich Victorian.

Most noticeably, the Christmas tree was now a giant evergreen, glittering brilliantly with hundreds of candles. The flames reflected off of glass-blown ornaments in bright colors and unique shapes. It was at least twice as tall as the castaways' tropical tree and the presents beneath were huge and extravagant. Gifts of all shapes and sizes were wrapped in colorful paper and adorned with massive ribbons. There was also a baseball bat and glove, a fleet of toy ships with tiny sailors at the helm, and an impeccably decorated three-story dollhouse with a motley group of inhabitants, including a Mary Ann-looking doll in a little blue gingham dress, a grandma that reminded her of Aunt Martha, a little boy, a little girl with a dog, a princess, a native Chief, a pirate, and a stunning movie star in a shining sequin dress. Because every dollhouse needs a movie star and a pirate.

Mary Ann turned to the small table beside the chaise lounge and grabbed the photo propped there. From a gilded frame, the Howells smiled back at her in exquisite Victorian dress. Beside them, the Professor stood tall in a cape, eye patch, and top hat. But Mary Ann recognized him not as the Professor, but as her godfather Drosselmeyer, a brilliant engineer and toymaker who performed incredible feats of magic in his spare time. After this, Mary Ann wasn't shocked to find herself in the photo, ringlets and all. Beside her, a grinning boy of about thirteen with a slingshot hanging out of his back pocket.

Mary Ann's head snapped up from the photo at the sound of a twig breaking. At the edge of the clearing, lurking in the shadows between palm trees, figures were moving. They began to creep into the clearing, slowly becoming illuminated by the dull light of the tiki torches.

Natives. At least a dozen, probably more. War paint, grass skirts, rings in their noses. Eyes narrowed, sneering, spears and machetes raised ominously.

Mary Ann instinctively grabbed for her new sailor doll. She threw the pillows from the chaise lounge, plunged her hand between the cushions, even flung her head over the side to peer under the chair, but he was nowhere to be found. She glanced under the tree, but he hadn't gone visiting in the house and wasn't manning the toy fleet either.

Mary Ann stood as the natives advanced on her. She spun around. Surrounded. The natives crept silently forward from all sides until she was backed into the communal table. She leapt onto the bamboo dining table and opened her mouth to yell for someone.

But no sound emerged.

Mary Ann suddenly became very aware of the music.

It was deafening, but until now had eluded her awareness.

She tried to call out again, but the steady string crescendo was already overpowering.

Mary Ann snatched up the radio from the table and switched it off, but the music didn't stop. If anything, it continued increasing.

It was everywhere.

She spun fitfully, curls whipping her in the face, searching desperately for the source.

But it was everywhere.

It hung over the clearing in a gorgeous, thick fog of sound. The brass section echoed from the treetops. Violins and cellos swept up from the underbrush. The percussionists seemed to be stationed directly under the table as its woven top vibrated and quivered under her feet.

The incredible crescendo continued until the cymbal crashed and Mary Ann jumped, landing on her backside. She nearly backed into one of the native's spears and immediately sprang to her feet again.

Mary Ann was trapped in the center of the table. She didn't notice the Professor under the tree, seemingly invisible to the natives and camouflaged by his dark green cape falling around him, ignoring her plight as he collected the native Chief doll and the toy fleet's tiny crew into his overturned top hat.

Mary Ann still tried to call out for someone, anyone, but wasn't sure if she was even capable of making any sound. A timpani roll shook the table as if it was situated on a fault line. The music intensified again, a terrifying yet regal fusion of strings and brass, and she clamped both hands over her ears. She turned frantically in place, crying out fruitlessly.

Mary Ann finally squeezed her eyes shut and resigned herself to whatever fate awaited her when another cymbal crashed and the music seemed to stop.

It was only a short rest, but the millisecond of silence stretched out before Mary Ann's grateful ears and the entire world stood still.

Too soon, the brass section trumpeted again, but not menacingly. It was almost like a summons, no, an announcement of hope. She felt the natives inexplicably relax their advance and they turned curiously to the trees.

Mary Ann cautiously opened her eyes and peered into the darkness. A low fog had rolled in among the palms and underbrush. From the fog, a row of men in glowing white appeared. The most noble and ceremonious of brass fanfares sounded as they approached.

Mary Ann's eyes widened and her mouth fell open dumbly. Even the fierce natives seemed impressed, staring at these unexpected visitors in bewilderment. The men wore crisp white sailor uniforms with blue collars and white caps, brims folded up traditionally. They stopped as they entered the clearing and saluted sharply.

Mary Ann was too stunned to form any sort of coherent thought about savior from the natives or rescue from the island or even that she should greet to them. They stood frozen in formation. They stared straight ahead at nothing, saluting. Waiting. So Mary Ann waited, too.

After a moment, as if responding to some unremarkable musical cue known only to them, the men took one step to the side creating a gap in the center of their line. The brass subsided and a light twinkling xylophone solo seemed to fall directly from the heavens to settle over the clearing.

To this oddly beautiful mixture of regal and magical sound, the sailors' commanding officer appeared from the darkness. His hat was tucked respectfully under one arm, but his unruly brown hair hung almost goofily across his forehead. He stopped in front of the table to bow reverently before Mary Ann.

She finally let her hands fall from her ears.

He's alive. He's real.

The sailors and their officer continued to stand stock still in formation as the music increased again. The longer the sailors stayed frozen, the more comfortable the natives became. They chuckled to one another and pointed tauntingly at the sailors, who still did not move.

One of the natives bravely stepped forward. The savage pulled at their uniforms and peered closely at their unresponsive faces, even looking directly into one sailor's eyes, which were unfocused and staring right through him. The native finally removed the sailor's hat and deposited it on his own feather-clad head. He turned back to his tribesmen and laughed uproariously, the others quickly joining him. When he returned his focus to the sailor, he was abruptly punched in the jaw.

The native spun and went down hard. The sailor caught his hat in midair and jammed it back on his head as chaos broke out.

Each sailor sprang to life. It was almost choreographed as each man knew exactly who he was supposed to square off against. Some sailors battled two natives at once, unarmed. They ducked blows and jumped over machete swipes with the agility of acrobats, but still very mechanical in their maneuvers. The natives put up a valiant fight, although Mary Ann sensed that it was predisposed from the beginning that they were going to lose and they knew it.

Mary Ann's attention was pulled from the melee when the officer, who until now hadn't moved, rushed past the table. She spun around in time to see the native Chief emerge from the foliage. The officer snatched up Mr. Howell's sword cane that had been left after the party and leapt up on the edge of the table between Mary Ann and the Chief.

Mary Ann stared at the white back of the officer's bright uniform jacket, stripes and rank insignia standing out proudly in gold. She peered around him at the Chief, who was smirking and swinging his machete in an act of intimidation. The officer, armed with only the skinny sword cane, was actually smiling back.

Then with no warning whatsoever, the officer sprung from the table and landed, mid-blow, practically on top of the Chief. The men struggled, swords sparking, as the others continued the fight around them. Mary Ann watched, horrified, as the Chief somehow got the officer pinned to a palm tree, machete at his throat and sword arm held firmly against the trunk above his head.

Without thinking, Mary Ann pulled off her slipper and hurled it as hard as she could at the Chief. It bounced off his headdress like an annoying gnat and the look the Chief shot her was enough to send her staggering back a few feet across the table. But the distraction gave the officer an opportunity to take advantage of the Chief's momentary vulnerability and free himself.

The next few moments were a blur of grass skirts, white fabric, swipes of spears and machetes. The expected yells and grunts of battle were nonexistent or drowned out under the music that swelled from the surrounding jungle.

And then, as quickly as it began, the battle was over.

The natives were all suddenly disarmed, crowding back around their Chief, who was lying unconscious in the sand with the sailors' officer looming over him. One of the sailors returned Mary Ann's slipper, gave her a very sharp, almost imperceptible nod, and joined his comrades back at attention. They stood proudly, looking not the least bit winded from the fight. The natives carefully lifted their Chief and carried him off into the jungle as nobly as possible after their stunning defeat. The sailors waited until they were gone, saluted their commander once more, and then turned as one to disappear into the darkness.

Mary Ann watched them go, astonished. The officer tucked his hat under his arm, turned to face her, and bowed again. Mary Ann wanted to tell him to stop doing that, but was still too astounded to do anything except stare at him blankly, totally speechless.

He seemed to understand, though, and raised his head to grin up at her. It was a warm, charming smile, innocent and a little bit lopsided, not at all the polished and professional smile she'd expected from an officer with so many stripes on his uniform.

Mary Ann was vaguely aware that the music had changed again. She faintly heard a harp somewhere as he held his hand out to her. She took it without hesitation and stepped down lightly onto the bench and then to the sand. She stared up at him dumbly as he gallantly kissed her hand and Mary Ann was sure that this was probably some obscene breach of military protocol. But she wasn't about to bring it up and he looked unconcerned about a keelhauling.

As he pulled his hat back on, Mary Ann's eyes raked over his medals, impressed despite not knowing what they signified. Above the row of medals was a gold nameplate that was too small to read when he was a doll: Gilligan. Mary Ann smirked. He had claimed it wasn't supposed to be him. He turned then and offered her his arm, which she took and allowed herself to be led into the jungle.

Mary Ann didn't know where they were going, but she didn't care. He seemed to know exactly where he was heading, though, as he led her down a meandering jungle path. The music was just as loud as they ventured from the clearing, reverberating equally around the entire island. As they descended into the trees, Mary Ann realized that neither of them had brought a torch to light the way, but it didn't seem to matter. The moonlight was sufficient and the path up ahead was eerily glowing brighter than ever.

As they approached, Mary Ann realized with a gasp what was creating the light. The low full moon was reflecting off of a layer of fresh snow that blanketed the ground.

It wasn't cold, but it was actually snowing.

Mary Ann let go of the officer's arm and ventured, awe-struck, into the small clearing. A light dusting of fine powdery snow covered the palm leaves and tropical flowers. Mary Ann turned in a slow circle and gazed into the heavens. She watched the flakes swirl above her head and felt them alight on her eyelashes and get caught in her ringlets. The snow danced around them, twirling and leaping and never falling straight to the ground. The snowflakes cavorted in time with the music, the lilting flute melody conducting their progress as they journeyed toward earth.

Gilligan had his face raised to the sky, tongue out, and Mary Ann laughed as the snow intensified, but he was still unable to catch any flakes, as if they were conspiring against him. Then as quickly as the snow strengthened, it stopped completely just as the music hit the peak of its crescendo and pulled back considerably.

As the last few flakes fluttered silently to earth, eight little lights appeared in the jungle, floating between the palms and bobbing gently as they approached the clearing. Mary Ann almost laughed out loud at the ten tiny Angels who appeared from the shadows after such a grand musical introduction. The ten girls, all around nine years old, stopped in a row on the edge of the clearing. They all wore glittering white skirts and gold halos floated magically above their heads. Eight of the Angels carried candles that flickered orange across their cherubic faces.

The two Angels without candles broke from the line and glided toward Mary Ann and the officer, almost floating on the whimsically childlike flute tune wafting from the treetops. One of the girls was a plucky blonde, the other a somber brunette with the faint remains of a scratch on her forehead and a rip in her skirt. The girls took Mary Ann's hands and began leading her in the direction from which they came.

Mary Ann glanced over her shoulder to make sure Gilligan was following. Behind him, the other eight Angels fell into two lines, candles gleaming. The little brunette on Mary Ann's left was gripping her hand with unexpected strength, almost desperation, so Mary Ann squeezed back, but she was peering down at the blonde on her right. She looked familiar. The little girl sensed her gaze, so she grinned up at Mary Ann, who gasped when she recognized her friend Cindy's infamous dimples. The girls grasped her hands tighter as they led her further into the jungle.

They entered a larger clearing where a ragtag group of young girls was struggling through rudimentary choreography. The moon lit the space like a stage, its bright brilliance equaling two dozen klieg lights. The dancers' attempts at synchronization were admirable. The girls wore outfits pieced together from old costumes, improvements gallantly attempted by mothers and grandmothers with spare thread and fabric scraps. Each group took center for a few counts as the string section sent an upbeat introductory tune into the clearing. They then retreated into the throng again as another group came forward. There were girls in Spanish ruffles, Chinese kimonos that weren't quite the right floral pattern and Arabian princesses with mismatched veils floating in their wakes. They kicked up waves of powdery snow that seemed to hang suspended for a second before sprinkling down around them.

Throughout the routine, an older lady stalked through the formations, adjusting technique and fixing turnouts in mid-step, causing far more trouble than she was preventing. One ill-fated Mirliton toppled over the woman as she crouched by the adjacent dancer, reed flute flying from her hand and soaring into the trees. The others glanced briefly in her direction as the girl landed face first in the snow, but continued their weak fouettes, only occasionally kicking the dancer beside them as their spacing was disturbed by Miss Cathy's helpful adjustments.

It was only after being kicked unceremoniously in the rump by a flailing Russian Trepak dancer that Miss Cathy shot up straight and glared into her phalanx of ballerinas. She clapped her hands sharply three times and waved her arms in the air with great finality. The girls sputtered to a stop and stood panting, gaping at the woman with no fathomable expectation of what she would do next.

Miss Cathy was frozen with indecision. For a long moment, everyone stared at each other. The music continued gaily, ignorant of the stalled performance. The teacher's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden burst of applause from the jungle behind her. Miss Cathy and Mary Ann turned and saw Gilligan grinning at the ballerinas, applauding their efforts with such sincerity that Mary Ann had to smile just as Miss Cathy had to frown. Some of the girls raised ashamed eyes from the ground and smiled appreciatively, but the rest were too mortified to look up. The tiny Angels peered doubtfully up at the officer and his applause eventually petered out under their gaze.

Gilligan frowned and straightened his shoulders. He strode into the clearing, much to Miss Cathy's horror and the girls' interest. He held the woman's gaze for a moment and she finally crossed her arms, signaling that she'd hear him out.

Gilligan adjusted his coat and stretched like he always did when he was about to settle into a story. He glanced into the sky and the music changed. He pointed back at Mary Ann, tucked both hands under his cheek to mime sleeping, pointed at himself, then knelt and held his hand at different levels above the ground to show his growth and transformation from doll to man. The Angels and other girls were watching him intently.

The officer's eyes took on a wild look and his stance changed. The music followed his tale, taking on an eerie and threatening tone. He raised his arms to mimic a wild native battle cry, swinging his imaginary machete haphazardly. The girls gasped and the bruised Mirliton emerged curiously from the trees where she was still looking for her reed flute to watch.

The officer spread his arms and spun, signaling that they were surrounded. He strutted in a regal circle and held his hands out beside his head to show the size of the Chief's headdress. He mimed one half of a sword fight until he pinned one of his arms behind his back and held the other over his head to demonstrate how he had been caught.

Gilligan suddenly pointed back at Mary Ann, took off an imaginary slipper and hurled it so hard that the momentum of his arm sent him spinning to the ground where he sat, legs splayed. His hat whirled off his head mid-spin and landed in a cloud of powdery snow four feet away. He grinned back at Mary Ann, hair falling into his eyes, and the girls gasped again before breaking into wild applause just as the music settled back into its calming string melody.

Miss Cathy glared at her troupe and the dancers abruptly silenced. She shook her head, waved her hands in the air once more and gestured toward the trees. The girls sighed collectively and gathered whatever props and costume pieces they lost in the snow before trudging out of sight into the foliage.

The Angels tugged on Mary Ann's hands and led her into the clearing behind the teacher. Gilligan stood and brushed the snow from his uniform. He retrieved his hat and replaced it on his head, only to take if off again a second later to shake the snow from his hair and dump the excess from the hat.

Miss Cathy heard Mary Ann and the Angels draw near and turned. She looked exactly as Mary Ann remembered her. Her dyed platinum blond hair was tied back tightly in the pink kerchief that served partly as a headband and partly as a free Kansan face-lift. Twelve pounds of makeup tried to conceal her wrinkles, a flash of blue adorned each eyelid and her lips were painted the color of a freshly-washed sparkling fire engine.

Mary Ann instinctively shoved her feet into third position and made sure her shoulders were down, the required stance when being inspected by Miss Cathy. She noticed the Angels beside her do the same. The teacher shoved her hands onto her hips where her blue gauzy ballet skirt was tied and looked Mary Ann over appraisingly.

Mary Ann felt the familiar dull panic flare up inside her and fought the urge to look down and make sure her feet were in the right position. Second guessing yourself was the ultimate offense. Miss Cathy's exhausted frown flipped suddenly into the warm smile that Mary Ann remembered her reserving for perfect pirouettes and leaps that didn't end with the dancer in a heap on the floor at her feet. Mary Ann exhaled with relief and Miss Cathy touched her cheek briefly before striding gracefully back across the clearing, blue knit legwarmers tucked around the ancient Pointe shoes that the girls always suspected had at least one sprained ankle or broken hip planned for the older woman.

Miss Cathy returned to the center of the clearing, alone in the spotlight of the full moon, where she liked it best. After the most exquisite perfect pirouette and graceful fifth-position landing that Mary Ann had ever seen, Miss Cathy raised two fingers to her mouth and whistled like dirty construction worker.

The music stopped abruptly.

Mary Ann and Gilligan exchanged glances and Cindy raised a warning finger to her lips. Miss Cathy only consulted the mysterious and invisible sound technician in the sky on important occasions and must be trusted.

After a moment, the music began again, skipping at least fifteen minutes ahead of where it had stopped. Miss Cathy waited for a few beats and then clapped twice, sharply, twisting her head to look for someone who apparently should be entering at this precise moment.

Mary Ann's eyes widened at the sight of Ginger strolling casually from the jungle, hands on her sashaying hips. Miss Cathy glared at the movie star's audacity to miss her cue, but Ginger just smiled back sweetly. Ginger's scarlet hair was piled high atop her head in massive French curls. She wore her trademark gold gown with the sequined straps, but it sparkled brighter than ever, sending blinding beams into the audience when caught by the light at the perfect angle. Instead of hugging her curves across her hips and landing in a graceful puddle around her high-heeled feet as usual, Ginger's gown flared out at the waist and arched toward the ground at least a yard around her on all sides.

As soon as Ginger reached her mark in the center of the clearing, little Bon Bons and even littler Polichinelles came surging from beneath her skirts, terrified at the prospect of being late to their own marks. It was only after Ginger stopped next to Miss Cathy, far too close since the teacher refused to give up any ground to the delinquent actress, that Mary Ann noticed that her friend was now unbelievably tall, towering at least three feet over the glowering woman beside her.

Cindy tugged on Mary Ann's hand and pointed into the throng of cavorting girls. She smiled proudly and Mary Ann recognized her friend's little sister among the whirlwind of spinning arms and legs and giant neon pink tutus. Cindy's sister noticed Ginger for the first time and stopped dead, mid-spin, to gape open-mouthed at the vision above her. Ginger smiled down at her and made a gentle shooing gesture and the girl stumbled back into formation, stealing a glance over her shoulder at the actress every few beats. The brunette Angel tugged on Mary Ann's other hand. She looked down and the girl was smiling for the first time, pointing into the jungle where Ginger had made her entrance. They all followed her gaze to where poor Miss Cathy's husband was pouting in his red wig and long gold false eyelashes, petulantly sulking over being replaced.

As the Bon Bons and Polichinelles danced, Miss Cathy finally gave up on glaring at Ginger and retreated into the foliage to roll her eyes at her moping husband instead. Behind the young girls, Ginger's stage business consisted mostly of her usual real-life business – primping her hair, checking her makeup in a small compact she produced from her cleavage, and shooting a flirtatious grin across the clearing when she noticed that a man in uniform was present. Mary Ann raised her eyebrows and glanced back at the officer, pleased to notice that he looked simultaneously terrified and confused.

Then in a show of utmost professionalism, Ginger snapped her compact closed and began beckoning the children back right on cue. She stuffed the mirror back into her dress as the girls skipped around her one final time, each stopping center stage to wave, curtsey, or blow a kiss to their audience. The two Angels flanking Mary Ann waved at Cindy's sister, who used up too many counts of eight to wave back and was unceremoniously shoved aside by the girl behind her.

The last little Polichinelle in line to say goodbye was absolutely gorgeous. She looked like a doll that had come to life. She was also suddenly carrying a dog. Mary Ann had no idea where he came from, but he looked like Toto from _The Wizard of Oz_. As the music hit a particularly loud accented beat, Mary Ann was jarred from within and she gasped. Lilly.

Before disappearing beneath Mother Ginger's skirts, Lilly paused to look back over her shoulder, the dog cradled in one arm, her other hand clutching a fistful of gold fabric. She flashed Mary Ann a perfect grin and was gone.

Ginger smiled warmly at her audience and waved a royal pageant queen wave as she began her exit. She departed slowly – almost rebelliously – and stared steadily at the teacher just inside the tree line, challenging Miss Cathy to unleash her wrath once more.

When all was quiet again, the music low and soothing, the Angels led Mary Ann and Gilligan into the center of the clearing. It was as if there had been a scene change, the moonlight now illuminating a smaller area in the middle of the clearing like a carefully focused spotlight. The girls stopped Mary Ann here and held her arms for a moment to tell her to stay put before tearing into the jungle with unbridled childish eagerness, kicking up snow in their wake. In contrast, the other eight Angels glided lightly around them and retreated, candle flames the last part of them to disappear into the darkness.

Mary Ann glanced around her. Aside from the soft music, all was quiet. There were no hints or clues of others being there before. The stillness was incredible. No movement in the green leafy wings of Bon Bons and Polichinelles crawling out from under Ginger's skirts. No Miss Cathy making an inordinate amount of noise while trying to keep them quiet. Not even any footprints in the snow. It was as if everyone had simply dematerialized.

Mary Ann and the officer were alone in the clearing. The Angels had been gone for what felt like an eternity and Mary Ann was beginning to feel inexplicably nervous. She stepped closer to Gilligan until her arm brushed his elbow as he stood with his hands behind his back, waiting patiently. He smiled down at her knowingly and then faced forward again, resuming his uncharacteristically tranquil wait. Mary Ann sighed.

It had begun snowing again, very faintly, the almost invisible flakes seeming to hover in mid-air. Everything – trees, rocks, bright tropical flowers – was bathed in white. Mary Ann's hair was the darkest thing in sight, but was quickly becoming speckled with snow as well. Even the blue ribbons in her hair and on her white nightgown and the shining medals on the officer's uniform seemed too light and blended with the environment.

The two Angels raced back into the clearing, shattering the peace and grinning like madwomen. But they stopped only a few feet from the tree line and turned around, sighing into the jungle. Someone was supposed to be following them, that was clear. It was also clear that this person was not fast enough for them. The Angels dove back into the darkness, exasperation weighing heavily on their sagging shoulders.

A moment later, the Angels returned, leaning forward with one arm stretched behind, pulling with all their might. Cindy's dimples were bigger than ever as she grinned from ear to ear. Their guest finally stepped into the clearing just as the music changed to an all-familiar tune, the celesta ringing sharply through the air. The newcomer held the girls' hands tenderly and the brunette held on tight with both hands, beaming up at the woman adoringly.

It took Mary Ann a long time to realize who she was looking at.

The Angels led the woman out of the darkness and into the light of the full moon. As they came closer, Mary Ann's breath increased until she felt on the verge of suffocating. Her chest tightened. She was sure her heart would either explode from beating too fast or stop altogether. Not a single coherent thought existed in her head.

As they approached, the dark pink and gold jewels on the woman's outfit caught the light and glittered brilliantly. Mary Ann reached out blindly and grabbed the officer's elbow and he put his arms firmly around her waist to keep her upright.

The Sugar Plum Fairy stopped before Mary Ann and smiled gently.

Her burnt orange tutu was the only beacon of color in the otherwise pure white clearing. It shone like the sun, a splash of fire glowing with a spectacular ethereal beauty. On her head, a sparkling tiara peeked from a pile of dark curls.

Mary Ann stared at her mother.

She wanted to reach out and touch her to make sure she was real, but was afraid of finding the opposite to be true, so she continued gripping Gilligan's arm with white-knuckled hands, clutching it tightly against her abdomen. His arms around her were the only thing keeping her on her feet. He nudged her and it reminded her to breathe again.

He slipped his arms from her waist and steered Mary Ann forward. She took one tiny step and blinked at her mother. Sarah Summers released the Angels' hands and lifted one of the perfect snow-speckled ringlets from Mary Ann's shoulder, letting it sit lightly on her palm. She glanced down at the little brunette Angel beside her and then back up at Mary Ann and smiled, astonished that she no longer had to look down to her daughter.

That one touch, the feel of her mother's hand in her hair, brushing her shoulder, was all Mary Ann needed to be sure that she was real, and if not real then at least solid, at least in this moment, and so she fell into her mother's arms, crushing her tutu and clutching her like she did that night on the side of the road in the pouring rain right before the police officer peeled her off of her and carried her, kicking and screaming, to his waiting squad car where she banged on the window and went hoarse shrieking until she could only watch, soaked and exhausted, as her family was taken away.

Mary Ann held onto her mother and felt her arms going numb, but she wouldn't dare let go. She realized that she hadn't been breathing and took a deep shuddering breath, squeezing her eyes shut. Her mother still smelled the same – like flour and wildflowers and just a hint of the sweet dry smell of fresh hay.

Mary Ann concentrated hard and tried to return them all to the safety of Winfield, Kansas by the sheer power of her will. She found herself unconsciously transporting her new friends there with them. She couldn't leave them behind. Mrs. Howell and Ginger would complain at first, but they'd get used to it, right? Mr. Howell would eventually make some sort of shady deal with the small town banker, but it would be okay because they would all be together. The Professor would teach and research agricultural issues. The Skipper could become a landlubber. Couldn't he? And Gilligan would teach Freddy how to make a perfect slingshot.

Mary Ann's brow furrowed and she concentrated harder. Mary Ann wanted both of her lives. She wanted everything. Everyone.

She couldn't imagine what life would have been like if they had made it home safely that Christmas Eve. Not because she didn't want to. She was just incapable.

If nothing had happened and she hadn't become disillusioned and jumped at a free grand prize trip to Hawaii to go looking for magic, she'd probably be married to that creep Horace Higgenbotham with three obnoxious kids, barefoot and pregnant in the field, yelling at him to be more considerate.

But she would have her mother and her father and her little brother.

Sarah Summers felt her daughter's anguish and pulled back to look at her. Mary Ann opened her mouth to speak, but her mother shook her head.

She knows everything that Mary Ann wants to tell her.

And everything is as it's supposed to be.

Her eyes raked over the lush tropical paradise enviously, seeming to see beyond the snow and appreciate it for the first time. The woman's gaze settled on Gilligan and she smiled slyly. His eyes widened and he drew back a little. Sarah reached out to straighten one of his medals and patted his chest affectionately. She turned back to Mary Ann and grinned reassuringly.

Everything is as it's supposed to be.

Mary Ann opened her mouth again and Sarah shook her head. No arguments.

They all turned when the little brunette Angel suddenly gasped and ran toward the trees.

Henry Summers stood at the edge of the clearing, holding his twenty-two month old son. Freddy reached a chubby arm out toward Mary Ann. She could still hear him calling to her in her head. He had tested out sounds and words and imitated the family and the radio until one day he decided with much finality that his big sister's name was 'My Ann.'

"My Ann! Hold dis!" he would demand and hand her whatever he was playing with and then toddle away to explore something new, leaving Mary Ann bewildered in the middle of the room holding a teddy bear or a spoon or a sock.

The little Angel leapt into her father's outstretched arm and he spun in a circle, both of his children shrieking and clutching at his shirt. A little dizzy, he stumbled to a stop and the kids bounced in his arms, pleading with him to do it again. He shook his head and then peered across the clearing at Mary Ann, giving her a winded grin and a wink. Henry seemed to notice Gilligan for the first time and sobered quickly, raising his eyebrows at his wife. Gilligan blanched under the man's stare and he almost retreated a step, stumbling through his best terrified, yet respectful bow. But Sarah merely rolled her eyes at her husband and waved him away.

She turned back to the castaways and stepped toward Gilligan with a smile. Sarah reached up and brushed his hair out of his eyes before planting her hands on her hips and fixing him with an even gaze that was at once both an assignment and a mild threat. She hadn't gotten to practice this look on any worthy young Kansan men in her lifetime, but she had it down pat regardless. Her eyes flickered to Mary Ann and back and he nodded, even saluting her despite himself.

Sarah then took her daughter's face in her hands, gently cradling her cheeks. She kissed her forehead tenderly and Mary Ann sighed sadly. She knew she couldn't stop them from leaving, but at least she could say goodbye this time.

Her mother smiled brightly and nodded. Everything is as it's supposed to be.

Sarah Summers glanced down to her left and held her hand out to Cindy, who grabbed hold. They turned back to where Henry was waiting with the children, accompanied by a beautifully regal brass melody.

Mary Ann took a small step after them, but her feet couldn't move any further. She felt rooted into the earth as she watched them go helplessly. She blinked, lip quivering dangerously as her breathing increased again.

Sarah shot Gilligan a look over her shoulder and he jumped to attention, horrified to be failing her already. He quickly stepped up beside Mary Ann and put an arm around her shoulders. She immediately turned and fell forward, wrapping her arms around his middle and burying her face in his uniform coat. Sarah smiled as he put his arms around Mary Ann's back as he did that day in the cave and lowered his head to rest his forehead against her hair.

Sarah and Cindy reached the edge of the clearing where Henry was frowning a little over-protectively at the scene. Sarah poked her husband in the chest to get his attention and beamed up at him reassuringly. He returned the smile as she held onto his shirt and pulled herself up en Pointe to kiss him.

All five of them glanced back at the two figures in the center of the clearing and Mary Ann turned her head to catch one last glimpse. She pressed her cheek to the officer's coat, a brass button digging into her temple.

The group entered the jungle, the brass section giving them a powerful sendoff. Mary Ann stared down the path long after they disappeared, not noticing that the music had stopped when they left. The silence in the clearing was profound. She closed her eyes and tightened her hold on her sailor, gripping fistfuls of his uniform coat. She knew that he wasn't real either, not really, but he was solid, at least in this moment, and so she held on tight.


	4. A Long Winter's Nap

**A Long Winter's Nap**

Mary Ann's eyes fluttered open and she blinked, disoriented by the bright sunlight. Her back hurt and she realized that she had fallen asleep on the bamboo lounge chair in the clearing. She didn't remember falling asleep. She remembered that she and Gilligan listened to the end of _The Nutcracker_ on the radio and then realized guiltily that she probably passed out on him in mid-conversation. Gilligan was gone now, but the blanket from his hammock was spread carefully over her.

She shifted and winced, her arms numb in their awkward position. Mary Ann had both of her arms wrapped around herself, tightly hugging the sailor doll. She sat up slowly, rubbed her head, and tried to stretch out the stiffness in her back.

It was quiet, but it seemed too late for no one to be up yet. Mary Ann tossed back the blanket and stood. All the presents were still wrapped and stacked beneath their tropical tree. She was staring blankly at one of the little origami swans hanging from the tree – Andrew Jackson's face spread across one wing – when she heard a booming voice behind her.

"Well, look who's up!" Mary Ann turned to see the Skipper emerge from his hut and stride toward her, a jolly smile spread across his face. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart!" In an instant, Mary Ann found herself swept up in the Skipper's massive arms and he was spinning her in an exuberant circle.

Mary Ann laughed over his shoulder and saw the other castaways emerging from their huts as she swung past. "Merry Christmas, Skipper!"

The captain set her gently on her feet and laughed. "Gilligan wouldn't let us come out to open our presents until you woke up!" The Skipper eyed the doll she held. "Although I see he made an exception for you."

"Yeah, she fought dirty," Gilligan offered as he appeared behind the captain. "She made the face." Gilligan demonstrated a wildly exaggerated pout accompanied by the obligatory puppy dog eyes.

The Skipper sighed at the first mate's horrific imitation. "I'm sure it looked cuter on you," he reassured Mary Ann before shoving Gilligan lightly. "Knock it off and hand me a present to open!"

"Aye aye, sir!" Gilligan plopped down under the tree and began distributing gifts to the other six castaways. He handed Ginger the first one and she peered at the tag.

"Ooh, Professor!" she squealed, "You shouldn't have!" Ginger batted thick lashes at him and clutched the still wrapped present to her chest.

From under the tree, Gilligan sighed grandly. "Well, geez, Ginger, you didn't even open it yet. But if you don't want it, we can give it to somebody else. Don't take it personally, Professor."

Ginger swatted him away as he tried to take the box back. "Gilligan, stop!"

"It's just an expression, Gilligan." The Professor physically pulled him away from Ginger and deposited him on the bench beside the Skipper, who promptly hit him with his hat.

"Gilligan! Hand me a present and that's an order!"

"Yes, sir." Gilligan nodded and dove back under the tree, surfacing with a small package. "This one's from me."

The Skipper's grin was big and genuine as he took the gift. "Well, thanks, little buddy!"

"It's your pocket knife," Gilligan announced proudly before the Skipper could open it. Mary Ann clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter and Ginger hid her amused smile in the brand new hand mirror the Professor made for her. The Skipper looked lost at sea for a moment before frowning.

Mrs. Howell shook her head sadly. "Oh, Gilligan, don't you know it's terribly improper to give someone something that they already have? Especially if it's the exact same something that they had before you gave it to them?"

"Except money, of course, Lovey, dear!" Mr. Howell interjected. He held up the box of bills from his wife that he just unwrapped and laughed heartily.

"Oh, well, of course." Mrs. Howell dismissed this with a wave of her opera-gloved hands as her husband kissed her on the cheek.

The Skipper, meanwhile, glanced over at the doll in Mary Ann's lap. Gilligan had worked on it for four months, ambushing the Skipper every other day with another question. How many stripes did the officers have? What _exactly_ does the Purple Heart medal look like? Why is the heart purple? Should he give the sailor one of those stereotypical "Mom" heart tattoos just for fun?

The captain then looked down at his present – his own pocket knife. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, little buddy, but ... what's the big idea?"

Gilligan looked crestfallen. "What do you mean? That's your favorite pocket knife. Remember how you lost it over the summer? _I_ remember because you complained about it for three weeks and blamed me for losing it for four weeks. You were real upset about it. I looked for it every day and finally found it last month. I cleaned it up and polished it and made sure all the tools work. I even whittled a new toothpick for it. See?" The first mate picked up the knife and pulled the tiny toothpick from one side.

The Skipper looked both hopelessly guilty and deeply touched. He stammered for a few seconds. "That's right. I'd completely forgotten. I'm sorry, Gilligan. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Skipper." Gilligan grinned and returned to the tree. "And I already know what I'm getting you for your birthday, too."

"You do?"

"Yeah. While I was looking for your pocket knife, I lost your compass."

The castaways spent the rest of the day admiring their gifts and enjoying each other's company. Mary Ann's new doll was the center of attention and Ginger cooed over it until Gilligan got embarrassed and tried to convince everyone that the Professor's new bamboo beakers were even more fascinating.

That night, Mary Ann realized that she hadn't properly thanked Gilligan for her present. He had wandered off after dinner, so she set out to find him. She eventually ended up at the clearing from her dream and stopped just within the trees when she saw Gilligan standing in the moonlight spotlight. She watched his back as he stood perfectly still facing the trail that her family had disappeared down in her dream.

She thought she heard Gilligan whispering and she quietly entered the clearing. "What are you doing?" she asked as she appeared beside him.

Gilligan looked caught for a moment, but not necessarily surprised to see her. "Truth?" he asked, part of him hoping that she'd prefer him to lie. But Mary Ann nodded and he looked back to the trail. "I'm talking to your mom."

Mary Ann looked taken aback and her mouth opened with no plans of what to say. Finally she managed, "What?"

Gilligan sighed. "I had a dream last night." He had no idea how he'd explain this so that she wouldn't think he was either completely insane or mocking her. "She gave me a job. She ... she asked me to do her a favor. I just came here to tell her not to worry."

"Oh." Mary Ann was quiet and Gilligan was surprised that she didn't ask him what his assignment was. He sensed that she already knew. "I had a dream about her, too," she finally offered.

"You did?" Gilligan looked adorably worried and Mary Ann smiled reassuringly.

"It's okay. It was a good one."

"Good." Gilligan nodded and returned to watching the trail, as if he was waiting for someone to actually appear. "She was pretty."

Mary Ann smiled. "She liked you."

Mary Ann pulled her sweater tighter around her body and looked around the clearing. The shaft of moonlight shining perfectly through the opening in the canopy above their heads illuminated a flawless circle of soft grass beneath their feet. The bright colors around them were muted in the darkness, but vivid greens, oranges, and purples surrounded the clearing, a sharp contrast from the stark pure white of her dreams.

Everything is as it's supposed to be.

Mary Ann joined Gilligan in watching the trail. "Thank you," she finally whispered.

"You're welcome."

They stood side by side in silence for a long time. Then, without discussion, they took the trail, heading back to camp the long way.

"Your dad's kinda scary, though," Gilligan admitted softly as they entered the trees, as if Henry Summers were still there on the trail and could hear him and would show up to prove him right.

Mary Ann laughed. "No, he's not. He just never got to intimidate any teenage boys with his gun."

Gilligan gulped and his voice cracked. "He has a _gun_?"

Mary Ann burst out laughing as Gilligan spun on his heel. "Where are you going?" she demanded as he began striding back toward the clearing.

"To tell your mom I quit. What if you sprain your ankle? Or get a mosquito bite? I'm not getting shot over that!"

Mary Ann laughed harder and grabbed his arm to spin him back around. "Gilligan! Where's my hero?"

"On the shelf in your hut!" He pointed in the general direction of camp and used the momentum she created to pull him around to keep going until he had turned in a full circle – spinning Mary Ann around with him – to face the clearing again.

"Gilligan!" she managed again between giggles. "He can't hurt you!" Mary Ann finally got him facing the right direction, but held tight to his arm. "He wouldn't, anyway. You always take good care of me. Don't panic."

Mary Ann patted his arm comfortingly and Gilligan reluctantly let her lead him back to camp. He knew he was being irrational and he wouldn't even have to change his current behavior much to keep his promise, but his shoulders felt heavy with responsibility now and he didn't want to disappoint anyone. Even people he had never actually met and would never actually get to meet.

Sometimes he wished his dreams weren't so realistic.

Beside him, Mary Ann was smiling. "He wouldn't hurt you," she repeated, but then paused and smirked. "Uncle George might, though."

Gilligan skidded to a halt, digging his sneakers into the dirt.

Uncle George was very much alive.

Mary Ann laughed again and heaved on his arm, practically dragging him along behind her. "Come on!"

By the next holiday, which happened to be Valentine's Day, Mary Ann was eager to see if Gilligan would continue his doll-making tradition, but also wouldn't be surprised if he skipped this particular occasion. So when he showed up at her hut with a lily and a wrapped present and the most uncomfortable look she'd ever seen on his face, she couldn't help making him more uncomfortable by squealing with delight and pulling him inside.

Mary Ann laughed when she opened the box and saw Wrongway Feldman staring up at her, complete with scruffy beard and ivory aviator scarf, and knew that Gilligan had agonized over what would be the most unromantic doll he could possibly make. But she threw her arms around him anyway and he squirmed awkwardly, but hugged her back nonetheless.

For St. Patrick's Day, Mary Ann received a cowboy. His hat sat at a jaunty angle and he had a gun slung on his hip. Without the long lasso and tiny spurs, which kept getting tangled in one another, he looked remotely like a slightly scarier version of her father. She giggled and rolled her eyes when she realized this, but poor Gilligan seemed unaware of the results of his overactive subconscious.

For Easter, Mary Ann added another little girl doll to her collection. This one was a plucky blonde with an impish grin and dimples wearing her best Easter dress. Mary Ann knew that if this was the real-life Cindy Smith the dress would stay clean for a maximum of ten minutes – until she decided to climb a tree or chase a chicken.

One Sunday in May, Mary Ann returned to her hut to find a package from Gilligan on her cot. There was no note, no explanation, and it was wrapped much more simply than the others. She sat down and took the box in her lap. If she stared at it long enough, maybe it would tell her why it was here. After a few unenlightened moments, she sighed and carefully unwrapped the present.

Mary Ann lifted the lid and gasped sharply, her breath catching in her throat. She didn't know if she should smile or cry, so she settled on a combination of both. She gingerly lifted the doll from the box, almost afraid to touch it.

It was a ballerina.

In a gorgeous burnt orange tutu with dark pink and gold jewels that glittered brilliantly in the sunlight streaming through the window. On her head, a sparkling tiara peeked from a pile of dark curls. The tiny pink Pointe shoes looked suspiciously like her satin hair ribbons that had mysteriously disappeared from the Christmas tree when the castaways took down their improvised ornaments.

The ballerina stood in perfect third position and grinned up at Mary Ann, her chocolate eyes almost sparkling mischievously. The doll was as amazing as the others, but even more detailed, if possible. It must have taken him months to make. She even had tights on.

Mary Ann bit her lip and ran her fingers over the orange tutu. A salty drop of water fell onto the doll's cheek and Mary Ann wiped it away, hastily rubbing her palm under her eyes. She stood, sniffling, and turned to eye the shelf the Skipper built for the dolls. She reached up and gently placed the ballerina between the cowboy and the Mary Ann-looking doll in the little blue gingham dress. She looked at home there.

Mary Ann hadn't left her hut all day when Gilligan and Ginger showed up later that afternoon with a huge bouquet of flowers. The three youngest castaways took the flowers to Mrs. Howell, as they did every year, to thank her for taking such good care of them. Mrs. Howell always seemed surprised and incredibly moved as she took the bouquet and hugged them all tightly.

They knew that she always cried after they left, but of course would uphold the highest standards of propriety when in the presence of company. They also knew that she would never admit to it later, except maybe to her husband, who was very grateful that 'the children,' as she called them, very felt the same about her as she did about them.

It was only then, held close by the older woman, that Mary Ann realized why she had received the ballerina doll that day.

It was Mother's Day.


End file.
